The Fog Is Rising
by ItalieJade
Summary: Harry, being abused by his uncle, is rescued by the Order. He spends his last few hours with Fred and George. One-shot. implied SLASH


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Title: The Fog is Rising

Warnings: Minor Abuse, Implied Abuse, SLASH, slight AU (Disregards 7th book.)

It was a perfect, normal morning on Privet Drive; or one might assume. But little did most of the neighbors know that it was not, in fact, a perfect and normal morning at the house addressed Number 4. The home widely known to house the very ghastly overachieving Dursleys. What was not widely known was that a young man was living there as well; a man known as Potter; not Dursley. The Dursleys tried very hard to deny their nephew, Harry Potter's, existence. And for the most part it had work for the first sixteen years of his life. However today was the day before Harry would turn seventeen; the age, it was said, that a wizard will fully mature.

"BOY!" Vernon Dursley, Harry's uncle, bellowed from the bottom of the stairs, "GET DOWN HERE NOW!"

Harry cringed; Vernon was in a bad mood today. He hurriedly got dressed and rushed down the stairs to the kitchen where his uncle was waiting.

"Well? Fix me my breakfast!" Vernon demanded, thumping his fist on the table in what was supposed to be an intimidating gesture. Harry thought it was rather comical the way all his fat flapped up and down. The-Boy-Who-Lived snorted at the image his overweight uncle presented; apparently that was the wrong thing to do.

Vernon lunged at Harry, smacking him across the face.

"YOU UNGRATEFUL WHELP! We've done so much for you and yet still you are arrogant as usual!" Vernon fumbled with his belt. His arm rose in the air, ready to strike the boy again with something other than his hand.

"Vernon, no!" Petunia shrieked, running towards her very pissed off husband.

Petunia dropped down to her knees in front of Vernon, clutching at his pants. "You can't do this! THEY will know if you abuse him!"

"OUT of my way, 'Tunia!" Vernon said.

His wife would not relent, however. "Think of what will happen to us?! To Duddykins! He is famous in his freakish world! _They will know_!"

Vernon struck his wife hard, watching her fall to the ground beside him. The freak was not special. No one would notice because the boy would never admit to such abuse by someone like him...someone who couldn't use...magic.

He wheeled around, advancing on Harry with a menacing look in his eyes. He dropped his belt; he wouldn't need it. It would feel more gratifying to beat the boy using only his bare hands.

"Uncle Vernon, please don't do this!" Harry begged, glancing around the room, weighing his chances of an escape. His uncle may not have been intimidating before, but now he was. Vernon backed him into the corner of the kitchen. And then, everything was dark.

Harry woke up much later that evening to the feel of someone putting a warm cloth on his head. He cracked his eyes open to see someone with red hair staring down at him. He knew it was a Weasley, but without his glasses he was unable to tell which one it was. He tried to sit up, squinting and looking for his glasses only to be pushed down gently by this Weasley.

"Stay lying down. You've lost a lot of blood." He said, giving Harry his glasses.

Harry put his glasses on, looking up at his visitor. "Fred? What are you doing here? And where's George? And what's wrong with me…?" Harry rasped out.

Fred shook his head, amused by all the questions. "You are at Grimmauld Place. We brought you here after you're aunt contacted us. My dearest twin, George, is down in the kitchen getting some food for us." Fred shifted, looking more serious.

"You were attacked by your uncle; do you remember?"

Harry frowned. "I remember him yelling but that's about it."

"He left you there to die. Tonks told us you were just lying there in your own blood, barely alive. The Order brought you here…to rest. You're doing okay now." Fred said, grasping at Harry's hand.

George walked into the room with a tray full of food. He smiled forlornly at Harry, putting the tray down on the desk.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" George asked.

Harry grimaced slightly, giving George a shaky thumbs up. "What time is it?"

Fred looked at his watch. "It's 11:45. Happy early birthday!"

"Where is everyone else?" Harry asked, confused.

George looked down. "We asked to be alone with you until midnight."

"We have something to confess, Harry." Fred said, still holding onto Harry's hand. "It might not be the right time for it…but we thought that we would get it out now."

"Harry…we have feelings for you."

Harry looked at them, trying to tell if they were serious or not. He decided, upon seeing their faces, that they were very serious. George reached out and cupped his cheek. After a few minutes, the clock struck midnight. Harry gasped, writhing in discomfort as a very bright light covered him.

"Harry…are you okay?" Fred asked frantically.

A few more minutes passed before Harry smiled softly, looking at seemingly nothing before he said, "The fog is rising…"

And just like that…Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, breathed in his last bit of air.


End file.
